


Prompt #48 (90-Prompt Challenge)

by GlitterBombLove



Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [48]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fairies, Fantasy, Flash Fic, Gothic, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterBombLove/pseuds/GlitterBombLove
Summary: Prompt #48March 19, 2021Genre: Gothic, Fairy, ManorPrompt Idea: Rabbit holeSource: Original
Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052597





	Prompt #48 (90-Prompt Challenge)

Young Master Kentwell was a strange one. He would have been considered odd even if he was born to the village blacksmith instead to an Earl. I should know - I've known him from the time he was born til now - that's got to be twenty years. I wouldn't be talking this way in polite company but seeing this is just between us, I can speak freely. 

There was something just not quite right about the little master even back then. It wasn't just his pale complexion which bordered on translucent or the way his little ears angled subtly at the tips. Perhaps it was his way of looking at you. It went beyond the understandable haughtiness of an Earl's only son who would one day inherit the title, wealth and power by simple reason of birth. There were rumors he was half-fairy. 

I remember a day when the young master burst into the sitting room where his grandmother Countess Kentwell was having her tea time. I was a housemaid at the manor in those days and she often requested I serve her. I was young, quiet and served her tea with a loose hand(with generous nips of whiskey she asked for and called "spicing honey"). I was bent stoking the flames in the fireplace because she complained the room was a bit chilly. 

Her nine-year old grandson stood before her and cried, his cheeks wet from tears.

"M-M-Martha..," he blubbered. 

"What are you fussing about?" The Countess frowned, staring at the dirt and earth the master had trailed behind him. He had not taken off his outdoor boots.

"Grandmummy, my dog!" The child wailed. "She went after a rabbit down a hole and never came back up!" 

He cried, gulping between sobs and told his grandmother that he had gone out playing in the moors with his favorite dog, a Jack Russell terrier named Martha. They saw a white rabbit and Martha chased it down a rabbit hole and never came back up. He trembled and said he was frightfully afraid for her. 

"Disappeared? That's poor news?" The old dowager yawned and then held out her teacup to me. "Nelly, pour me more tea and a little more special spiced honey this time."

The little boy rubbed his little fist in his eyes and wept loudly.

"You have half a dozen other dogs. Go take another one out to play. And you know better wear your boots indoors. I shall have a word with your Governess."

"B-b-but I love Martha!" The child cried. "I can't replace her!" 

In the end, the Countess waved him away. He stood stubbornly and protested. Finally, she ordered me to escort the boy to his room, find his Governess and relay instructions he should be punished for his outburst and muddying the indoors. Awkwardly, I held the child's damp hand and led him up the grand staircase into the quarters in the east wing of the manor. Servants weren't allowed to walk the mail staircase and mail hallways, but I felt I could since I was taking the little master. Usually servants stepped to the sides of the carpeted areas but as I held the little master's hand, I felt a special permission to step in the middle.

"What do you think happened to Martha, Nelly?" He asked me suddenly.

I asked quietly, "Where were you?"

"By the field of heathers where there are three logs alongside the stream," he said. "Do you think Martha was snatched by evil fairy folk? I just know they took her! She never once barked when I called for her. I shouted for hours, looking for her. What shall I do?"

I knew the area. It was a favored spot we village children often secretly trespassed to play on. The heather was fragrant in the spring, this time of year and the stream water clear and cool in the summer. I did not have the heart to tell him, his dog may be lost forever. It was not unheard of for dogs to go missing down holes in these parts. 

"Pray for her, master," I said quietly. 

I cannot tell you how horrible I felt when I finally deposited him to his chambers and closed the door on the little master, red-faced and hiccuping from his first heartbreak. Be you high-born or low-born, you can't escape life's hurts.

I finished up the day and tried not to think back about the master and his little dog. It was next morning when I brought the Countess her breakfast service by the fireplace in her boudoir, I discovered something was not right. The Governess was already there, wringing her hands, and telling the Countess that the young master had gone missing. His bed had not been slept in all night and still gone all morning. There was a search party already scouring the moors but the estate grounds were massive. The Countess frowned in displeasure. She gestured to me.

"More spice in the tea, Nelly."

I refilled her cup, spooning in the whiskey. I cleared my voice and spoke up. "My Lady, I think I know where the young master might be found."

The Countess beckoned me tell her. I told her about the fields and tried provided directions which were deemed most obscure. In the end, the Countess dispatched me to go with a few gardeners and lead them to the spot. We trundled along the grasslands and mounds in a rickety work wagon and I pointed the directions to the play spot. The horses neighed and halted nervously by themselves before we even realized we arrived to the destination.

We stared at each other. I stood up in the wagon to get a better look. I remembered feeling a shock travel up my spine. I am uncertain what disturbed me more - the willfullness of this measure from a child's heart or the disbelief a child could do this by himself without aid from an unnatural source.

There were long sticks planted erect in the dirt and shovels strewn here and there. There were shallow trenches along the field and holes probably waist deep and more tunnels carving and rounding the area. The freshly dug earth trail circled and bowed in curvy designs in the land.

And there resting against a log was the muddied figure of the little master and in his arms, his beloved Martha.


End file.
